


The year's midnight

by gowerstreet



Series: The world which hides at the corner of your sight [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Alchemy, F/M, Fond Remembrance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Listening is magic, angst now comfort later, grief and memory are stealthy companions, platonic Sherlock, sharing head space with an Elizabethean poet, time equals distance but not closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The actions of a harmless stranger  on a crowded train leave a deep impact on Agnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of the first nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Set two months after the final events of A Flash of Gold amongst the Grey.
> 
> The title of this work is taken from 'A Nocturnal upon St Lucy's Day' by John Donne, as are the chapter names.

The end of a hectic and mostly pointless day. Seven stops on the Bakerloo. There was nowhere to sit, so she snaked her arm around the central pole of the carriage as they left Waterloo. Home meant a bath, tea in front of the tv and soothing a fractious cat who still had to adjust to life on Baker Street. Perhaps a visit from John, if shifts, Sherlock and cases permitted.

A horde of language students, mostly Italian, she thought, invaded at Piccadilly Circus, giggling and jostling. Every single space inch of space seemed to be taken up with their noise and energy.

Agnes closed her eyes and leant against her pole. Oxford Circus and Regents’ Park flashed past. No-one dared to enter, and no-one left the crammed carriage.

Only another three minutes before Baker Street. The noise around her increased. Two of the girls just beyond her left shoulder were fussing with a carrier bag . A metal cap briefly ground against glass. The train juddered, pushing Agnes against them.

Their perfume bottle gave out a brief hiss, releasing a hit of fragrance into the air. Not the best of ideas in a crowded carriage. Agnes glanced back in annoyance and immediately wished she hadn’t. A blonde-haired girl in a black denim jacket, pretty enough but nothing spectacular. Confident and energetic. Lucy’s clothes on a stranger. Lucy’s perfume on a stranger. The glimmer of Lucy’s smile in a stranger‘s face. She remembered being eighteen, not twenty six, and the memory of her sister’s laugh sliced through her mercilessly.

The train began to slow down and swept alongside the crowded platform. People around her prepared to leave. Her head swam. Her hands scrabbled at the pole, but lost their grip.

The surge of passengers leaving the train kept her upright, sweeping her along to the train doors. Her feet dragged along the floor of the carriage. She stepped off the train but never felt the gritty kiss of the platform as it struck her face.


	2. The sending forth of light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shh," he whispered with a soft smile. "We must stop meeting like this. Any clue why this happened?"
> 
> John faces a conflict of interests at work. Sherlock's gentler side appears.

"John?" Eddy the receptionist poked her head into the lounge.

“In here." He closed the fridge door with a sigh. "Where do you need me?"

"Need you in curtain three. New arrival."

" OK. Any notes?"

"The paramedics are waiting to do a handover."

"Cheers." John headed out, pausing to sanitise his hands. He pushed the curtain aside. " Afternoon. I'm Dr Watson..." was as far as he got before he caught sight of the new patient. "What happened?"

The paramedic shot him a look " You ok, Doc?"

"No. This is Agnes Reynard. My girlfriend. What happened? "

" She fainted coming off a train at Baker Street. Came round as we picked her up, but has drifted in and out since."

"Thanks. Listen, could you grab Raj on your way out?"

"Sure. Conflict of interests?" John nodded.

"No worries. "

It was John the boyfriend who leant over Agnes, tracing his fingers over her wrist. Her eyes cracked open.

"Shh," he whispered with a soft smile. "We must stop meeting like this. Any clue why this happened?"

" Did an impression of a human sardine. Got hemmed in by tourists, got too hot, too quickly. Keeled over. I must look a real sight."

"Don't worry - I've seen worse." What was she hiding?

Agnes swallowed. "Bad day. Worse journey. Went dizzy and face planted."

He knew better than to push. Perhaps she'd talk later.

The curtain was edged aside. Raj. "John, we need you in Resus. I''ll take over here."

"Thanks." John turned back to Agnes. " I'll be back as soon as I can. You're in good hands." He kissed her cheek. " See you later. Thanks Raj." John strode across the department, fists clenched in the pockets of his white coat.  
__  
It was almost two hours later before he made it back to Agnes. He threw his gloves and plastic apron in the hazmat bin, sliding back into concerned boyfriend mode by the time he reached the cubicles. "Hi, can I come in?"

"All done," said Raj, pulling the curtain to one side. "Just waiting for the x-rays to come back."

Agnes smiled weakly. "My head still feels tender."

John took up her hand. "You're looking better. Any stitches?"

"Nope, just some butterfly dressings," replied Raj. "Somehow you've escaped a concussion, but you'll have to take it easy for a few days. I'll just chase up that x-ray." He slipped out into the main area.

John's expression seemed unreadable to Agnes. "Sorry I frightened you," she said. He softened a little.

"Not your fault. Just a bit worried, that's all."

"Don't be. I feel much better now. It was just too much of everything, that's all.".

Raj stuck his head through the curtain. “All seems fine, Miss Reynard. You’re free to go. Is there anyone who could collect you? I’m afraid we can’t spare John right now.”

“Good to hear.” John smiled at him. “We’ll sort something out. Can you give us a minute?”

“Sure. Take as long as you need. I’ll bleep you when needed.” Raj nodded at them and disappeared.

John picked up Agnes’s hand. “Now what am I going to do with you? I’m not going to be able to leave here until at least ten.”

“Mycroft and his team left this morning, destination unknown.”

“Typical.”

“I’ll call a taxi,” she suggested. Not the right response.

“No you don’t. You’ve been bloody lucky not to get yourself admitted tonight. I’ll be back in a moment.”

John went into the doctor’s lounge and pulled out his phone.

Where are you? JW

Barts. Obviously. SH

Need you here. UCH A&E. Agnes. JW

For once Sherlock preferred to call. “Details,” he demanded.

“Paramedics brought her in. She fainted on the Tube. She’s OK now, but they’re not happy about letting her go home alone. I’m not going to be away from here until ten. And before you ask, your beloved sibling is beyond reach right now.”

“Unusual. What aren’t you telling me?”

John sighed. “Something’s upset her. She wouldn’t tell me what. She doesn’t need deducing, just an escort home and a watchful eye.”

“Not a boyfriend substitute. You do remember that I don’t do sympathy.” Even so, John heard the slam of a lab door and feet rapidly descending a long staircase.

“I also remember that you’ve known each other since before the last ice age.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t talk in metaphors. Emotional blackmail is a devious weapon.” 

“Useful, though.”

“It is infinitely better for your patients if all elements of *emotional distraction* are removed from your immediate environment. Ten minutes.” 

“Thank you.”

“Get back to your patients before the NHS creaks to a halt.” The call disconnected abruptly.

John pocketed his phone and went back to Agnes. 

“His Royal Awkwardness will take you home. He’s on his way. Listen, I should be back by 10.30, unless the zombie appocalypse hits. Make sure both of you eat something.” 

“Yes Doctor.” John snaked his arms around Agnes and held her close. Her lips pressed chastely against his neck. and stayed there. 

"Oh put it each other down,” came a familiar voice. “Overfamiliarity with patients is hardly professional, John.”

“Not listening. Girlfriend, not patient.” John gave Agnes a final, proper kiss. Sherlock huffed in mock annoyance, “When you’re quite finished...”

John ignored him, and waited until Agnes dropped her arms. “I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “It was rotten day, but it’s over, and tomorrow’s Saturday. See you later.”

Sherlock hovered awkwardly for a moment, allowing Agnes to go before him. "I'll text you later. Chinese or Thai?"

"Whichever Agnes wants. Thanks."

A smile briefly worried the corners of Sherlock's mouth. "She matters to you, so she matters to me. Keeping you both safe makes my life less.." he struggled for a word. "...problematic. See you later, John."

"Bye." John couldn't help noticing that the warmth of Sherlock's smile contradicted his flippant tone.


	3. A Lean Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happened on the train?”  
> Agnes pushed her plate onto the table, half-finished. Ethel eyed it hungrily. “Not now. I was tired. I got too hot. I keeled over. Happens to people every day, thanks to a lack of ventilation on the London Underground. Nasty when it happened, but all sorted now.”
> 
> “Except that it’s not."

The taxi ride was filled with a difficult silence. They watched each other through the reflections of their respective windows.

Sherlock thrust a note at the driver as they halted outside 221b, his eyes never leaving Agnes as she got out and unlocked the main door. H caught the keys as they slipped from her hands. “I’m not completely incapable,” she sniped.  
Sherlock gave her a sideways look as she stopped in the hallway. “Obviously. But the slowness of your walk and loss of dexterity remain points of concern.”  
“I need to feed Ethel.”  
“Unnecessary. She shared my tuna sandwich earlier, and will no doubt be found on John’s chair. Go have a shower. Chinese or Thai?”  
“What?”  
“Takeaway. Your choice, according to the good doctor.”  
“Whatever.” She settled her coat onto one of the dining chairs then headed for the bathroom.

Agnes sat on the edge of the bath, shrouded in a towel, all energy spent. She heard the doorbell and the leaping gallop of Sherlock as he collected the food. Two or three minutes later, the bathroom door opened just enough to allow an elegant hand to drop a bundle of clothing at her feet, before promptly closing again.

John’s pyjamas held a tantalising memory of dusty warmth, as though they had briefly rested on a radiator, just enough to keep the chill of the cooling bathroom at bay.

The coffee table was covered in gently steaming foil containers, glistening and aromatic. Sherlock perched on his chair, a suit-clad adolescent vulture, gnawing delicately at a spare rib. Ethel was curled around his feet, ready to pounce on his leftovers.

Agnes huddled on John’s chair and helped herself to the food, even though her appetite had fled. Sherlock continued to perch and gnaw, occasionally dropping a fragment of meat for Ethel to find. Her tail twitched up against his leg.

“What happened on the train?”  
Agnes pushed her plate onto the table, half-finished. Ethel eyed it hungrily. “Not now. I was tired. I got too hot. I keeled over. Happens to people every day, thanks to a lack of ventilation on the London Underground. Nasty when it happened, but all sorted now.”

“Except that it’s not.” Sherlock descended from his perch, displacing Ethel, who shot him a glare and stalked off. He wandered over to the dining table, nostrils flaring, “All possible physical ailments have been ruled out, or they wouldn’t have been so keen to let you go. Therefore something or someone upset you. If it was a recent event you’d feel able to mention it to John - that’s what boyfriends are for. So, it’s someone from the past. Not an ex-colleague or a university friend - you’re very adept at shaking off unwanted attachments. “ He picked up her coat to hang it on the hooks. The ghost of a scent it gave off spiralled into his brain. Always something, he thought, there was always something. Got it.  
Ordinarily, he would have been waltzing around the flat, flaunting his deductions like a new suit. Not this time. He came back to his chair in silence.  
“It wasn’t about someone who was there,“ he announced quietly. It’s about someone who wasn’t. Someone who couldn’t be.”  
Agnes nodded, and closed her eyes. Everything was too bright, too vivid. There was a whirling swish before something silky drifted around her shoulders. Six feet of consulting detective landed delicately next to her, a whisper distant from touch.  
“What was it, after all this time?” he asked. She stilled, almost to the point of not breathing.  
“A backward glance and an ill-timed spray of perfume,” she admitted. “I knew it wasn’t her. I knew it couldn’t have been, but for a moment, or not even that…”  
“… you wished it could have been.”  
“Yes.” She pulled the dressing gown closer until it felt like another skin. “It felt like the accident was half an hour before, or last week. The last eight years just disappeared into a chasm, and so did she.”  
“ So why tell me? Why not John?”  
“You asked the right questions. ”  
“But you’re ‘with’ John now,, and he should be hearing this. The socially appropriate expression of emotions has never been my division.” His eyes bored into the opposite wall.  
“And yet here you are.”  
“For the sake of John, and you, to a greater or lesser extent, I’m prepared to sacrifice a wing of the mind palace to understanding such things.” She felt a small, travelling pressure on the back of her hand. His thumb, going backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.  
“Emotions are irrational, hence my loathing of their very nature. Nevertheless, since my return, I am beginning to better comprehend their power on those around me.”  
She turned to face him. “Took you long enough.”  
“Blame it on the traditional upbringing of the upper-middle class. Being sent away at seven tends to kill off the ability to express emotion effectively.”  
“It hasn’t stopped Mycroft,” she commented.  
“It has left him singularly unable to maintain an effective bond with all but the most misinformed individuals,” he huffed.  
Her elbow gently poked him in the ribs. “ So is that how you view me?” Curious , but not hurt.  
His elbow made the return journey in a similar fashion. “Perhaps.”  
____

All OK? JW  
Clearly, or you would have heard. When will you be home? SH  
Just handed over. Twenty minutes, tops. Anything edible left? JW  
Plenty SH  
Agnes? JW  
Showered, ate more than me, currently dozing in front of brain rot. SH  
Any further details? JW  
Lucy. SH

John slipped into the flat as quietly as possible. He stood in the doorway, transfixed. Ethel was sprawled along the sofa top like a breathing rug. Agnes was curled on the seat below her, covered by Sherlock’s dressing gown. The union flag cushion under her head rested on Sherlock’s lap. One of his hands rested gently on her hair while the other made furious notes on a photocopied article. He acknowledged John, then returned to his notes.

While waiting for his food to reheat, he pulled out his mobile.  
Very domestic. JW  
The proximity of others while recovering from a traumatic incident has  
proven to be highly beneficial.SH  
Nightmare? JW  
No. Merely satisfying her need for human companionship. SH  
How long has she been asleep? JW  
Forty nine minutes. Your food is ready. Eat. SH

John leant against the worktop and devoured his noodles. Sherlock cast him a wry look.  
Tea would be good. SH  
Wouldn’t it. JW

John brought two steaming mugs through a few minutes later. He set one on the coffee table and sat down in his own chair. Ethel cracked open an eye and spotted her chance. Thirty seconds later she was sprawling across John’s lap, claws flexing and retracting with smug pleasure. He tried not to wince when her claws pierced his trousers.

Smirking at my discomfort is not good. JW  
Perhaps not, but it is amusing. Looks like someone’s waking up. SH

Agnes stirred against the cushion, opening vague eyes. Sherlock carefully lifted his hand from her hair. “Welcome back,” he said. “You’ve been almost as useful as the skull, but your replacement has arrived. There are more suitable sleeping environments in this flat.”  
“That’s rich coming from you,” replied Agnes, slowly sitting up. “I‘ve heard some weeks you barely shift from here.”  
“You are mistaking thinking with sleeping. Easily done.” Sherlock flung the article to the floor and stretched. “How’s your head?”  
Agnes blinked. “Apparently still attached.” She swung her feet to the carpet to give John valuable sofa space.  
John picked up her wrist to check her pulse. “What’s your pain like?” he asked.  
“About a six, and increasing, if I’m honest.”  
“I’ll dig something out, once you’re settled upstairs,” he offered.  
She gave a grateful humph. “ That would help,” she admitted. John watched as she stood up. He led her upstairs .Half way up she turned. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“Noted,” came the muffled response. Sherlock was already nose-deep in another book. His phone vibrated five minutes later.  
Bit good, and all that. Will talk to J tomorrow. AR

Good. I hope the lean emptiness has lifted. SH  
Beginning to. AR


	4. The New Alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She should have been here for decades, to moan about wrinkles and grey hair and how they keep making size 10s too small. I’m angry that she never got to meet you, and tease me about how it long it’s taken me to meet a decent bloke. But no-one mentions her for fear we’ll all shake to pieces, and the silence is so thick, it’s as if she never was."
> 
> An admission of feelings from all sides marks the beginning of something new at Baker Street.

Agnes took the tablets that were offered to her, then slid into bed. John swapped his clothes for a dressing gown. He looked across at her stretching and curling under the duvet. “Comfortable?” he asked.  
“Perfectly, thank you. She shifted against her pillow. “Go and scrub off the hospital stench. And stop clucking,”  
His eyes creased. “Yes, boss.”

Someone had flicked on the immersion heater, ensuring a plentiful supply of hot water. When John stuck his head into the lounge to thank Sherlock, the sofa was empty. On similar nights, he might have expected to hear the violin, but tonight it dozed on the side table, although the bow was missing. The flat was utterly silent.

Agnes was curled away from him when he returned. When he switched off the light and climbed in behind, she shuffled back until they slept like a pair of tessellated shapes.

__  
She was staring at the ceiling when John woke up, some point before dawn. He rolled over, his eyes accustoming to the dim light. His hand found her belly and rested on top, feather light.  
“OK?” he murmured.  
“..Ish.”  
The fragment of edge in her voice fractured him. He was desperate not to wrong-foot her. “Can I do anything?”  
“Just listen.” She slid closer to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and her body sheltering under his arm. “I’m sorry if I worried you yesterday.””  
“It’s not as if you wilfully fainted, unlike someone else we could mention.”  
She tried smiling, but it didn’t work. “It shouldn’t have happened. I thought I was over this by now.”  
“Life can be like that. What happened?”  
“I saw someone who was the image of Lucy, the absolute image, even down to her sodding perfume. In a quieter place, I might have been alright, even able to get away, but there was barely space to breathe, and so I just shut down.”  
His thumb traced a random pattern over her arm. She focused on the movement, and it calmed them both.  
Clever doctor boyfriend. Just as well. The words were getting harder to say.  
“I miss her so much, and it only seems to be getting worse. At the moment, I can’t get through the day without being caught out by something.”  
John let her snuggle closer. Not much cop as a boyfriend, or a doctor, for that matter, if he hadn’t seen this one coming. He bit the edge of his lips viciously to keep his words inside his head, giving her the chance to speak.  
“I’m not so sad, as much as I am angry,” she continued. “She should have been here for decades, to moan about wrinkles and grey hair and how they keep making size 10s too small. I’m angry that she never got to meet you, and tease me about how it long it’s taken me to meet a decent bloke. But no-one mentions her for fear we’ll all shake to pieces, and the silence is so thick, it’s as if she never was. “  
John‘s hand traced the length of her spine, easing the tears out of her. “No-one is truly forgotten if someone speaks their name,” he whispered. “But what we do and how we do it is entirely up to you, if you want me there.” Her body tensed at his last sentence. Damn. Foot in mouth again, Watson.  
She turned to face him, her eyes glistening in the half light. “If I’m there, you’re there. You’re the fixed foot of my compass.“ His eyebrows rose.  
“I’ve never been compared to a piece of seafaring kit before.”  
“That’s what happens when you bed a Lit graduate. Hardly original ,though. It’s borrowed off the greatest poet in the English Language.”  
“Shakespeare?”  
“No, Donne. I’ll introduce you to him some day. You share my headspace after all. Blame a certain godfather. He got me hooked when I was fifteen with an antiquarian copy of his poems. It gave me somewhere to hide when Dad blew his top over Lucy sidestepping university.”  
“That was kind of him.”  
“I get the impression he had first-hand experience of challenging parents. I think that’s why he‘s always claimed not to have a heart, but we all know that’s not quite true."  
Her last sentence quivered against his skin. “Cold?” she asked.  
“A little,“ he lied. There was no way in Hell he’d try to explain that one to her. She flipped the duvet over them both.  
“Better?”  
“Thanks.”  
“I’m glad you’re comfortable. I’ve got a story for you. Once upon a time there were two little girls. The younger one was called Agnes, but the most important one was called Lucy, and everyone loved her...”

Downstairs, Sherlock leant against the worktop, a cooling mug of tea in his hand. He could hear the gentle bubbling of voices from upstairs as the morning brightened. No nightmares for any of them now . 

The memory of a blonde haired girl with a bright, sharp smile swept across his brain. His rationality slunk away as he looked up and across the empty room. 

Lucy, I believe John’s the one you always hoped she’d find. He’s kind and patient and brave and strong. Best of all, he’ll make time and space in himself for us both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In memory of E.M. R-T 1974-2008


End file.
